


Another Thursday

by Ailette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Imported, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, kid!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailette/pseuds/Ailette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place roughly five years after Thursday's Child. Dean and Sammy are waiting for their dad to come back, but of course nothing can be that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Thursday

It was Thursday, Dean realized. He didn’t need to count the days on his fingers to know that six days had passed since his dad had left him and Sammy here, in this rotten old cabin in the middle of a creepy forest where no sunlight ever seemed to touch the ground. Six days. Dean shook his head violently as he wondered if dad would come back at all, or if he would go away just like his mom had. He couldn’t think about such things now. Dad had told him to look after his baby brother and be sure to act like a man with his nine years; he would be back as soon as he got that son of a bitch.

Dean had grinned at that, proud that John Winchester felt his son was old enough now to hear the grown-up talk. Now, however, he felt far from grinning. There was practically no food left; the big canister holding no more than a few glasses worth of water. And, most important: no sign of his dad. Giving the nearly empty cabinet another evil look, he turned to Sammy, expression set.

“Sammy,” he announced seriously. The effect was pretty much lost on his brother who just grinned at him with his big green eyes and toothy smile. Well, Dean couldn’t exactly blame him. He was only five years old, after all. “I’m going out to look for some food and also if I can find dad, okay? You stay here, keep the door locked and wait for me or dad to come back. If someone else is at the door, you don’t let them in, understood?”

Sam Winchester tilted his head, smile faltering as he looked at his older brother. “I don’t want you to go,” he sniffed, and Dean could have sworn he was doing the puppy dog eyes on purpose.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in no time,” Dean said and hugged his brother tight before he grabbed the gun dad had left for him and made to unlock the door.

His baby brother nodded, but his eyes had taken a suspicious shine. Dean hated to see Sammy cry, just as he hated to leave him alone, but there was no way around it this time. Letting himself out, he waited for the familiar ‘click’ of the lock snapping into place before he switched the flashlight on and started to walk in the general direction of the path he remembered the Chevy Impala had taken.

The light never changed, even though Dean was sure he wandered in the woods for several hours. He’d forgotten his watch, so it was impossible to say what time it was. Too late, he realised that he’d also forgotten to take a look at the compass before he started his search, so he didn’t even know for sure if he was running back to the cabin or the opposite direction. Of course, it would be in that precise moment that the flashlight decided to give out. The boy shook it once, twice, three times before he decided that the damn thing really was either out of energy or the bulb met its maker.

Frustrated, he shoved it into the pockets of his jacket. Maybe it was night? He couldn’t remember it being this cold earlier on. Then again, maybe his body temperature just had dropped after some time. Snorting at his thoughts, Dean shook his head and continued on the way he’d followed so far. What did it matter why he was cold? Fact was, it _was_ cold. Period.

He trotted over the leaves on the ground, ignoring cracking branches as he walked over them. One of the first things his dad had taught him was that there might be a monster under your bed, but instead of being scared, you shot it. Plain and simple. Noises in the dark were just that—noises, until they came out and tried to eat you. And Dean was prepared for that case, so he didn’t need to listen to the rustling, creaking and swishing around him.

If he had paid more attention, things might have gone very differently.

As it was, he could hear the noises change, getting a little louder before—with one final, loud ‘crack’—the earth under his feet broke away, seemingly leaving him hanging in midair for a split second before gravity pulled him down. The fall was short, not even long enough for the boy to start screaming, just a dull “Ouf!” as he hit the ground.

For a few, blissful adrenaline pumped moments, Dean thought nothing had happened. But the moment passed and he could feel a sharp tugging pain shooting up his left leg, making the mere thought of standing up again a joke. He’d broken enough bones in his life to know what it felt like.

“Crap,” he muttered and grabbed for his leg with one hand, flinching it back as soon as it touched the skin. No way was he going to walk anywhere with that. Swallowing down the surge of panic forming in his throat, he concentrated on his surroundings instead. Not that he could see much—everything was even darker down here than it had been higher up—but from what he could see, it didn’t look much different from before his fall: still trees everywhere, your occasional stones (like the one he had the bad luck to land on) and ponds barely visible from where he lay. He couldn’t even hope to make out the gun he must have lost with the fall.

And, right there, was his next problem. He couldn’t lie on the ground: a) because no one would see him like this, and b) because it was freezing and he distantly remembered his father telling him a story about a girl freezing to death after she’d laid down somewhere in the winter. The story had contained rather explicit details, so he preferred not to try it himself.

Huffing and swatting dirt away from him, he slowly managed to push himself upright against the bigger stone behind him, panting for what seemed like hours until he regained his breath. What now? If dad came back to the cabin and found one of his sons missing, he would surely go out and search for him, but… what where the odds of his father taking the same strange paths Dean had chosen? And what if John Winchester wouldn’t return for another one or two days? Sammy would be fine with the leftovers, but only barely. Dean wouldn’t be as lucky, he knew that, but couldn’t concentrate on his own fate when he pictured little Sammy, innocent eyes glazing over as he sat alone on his bed, watching the door and waiting for his dad or brother to come back. What would Sammy think if they didn’t?

Dean’s heart contracted painfully at the thought of disappointing his brother. No. Someone needed to come and get Sammy, get him somewhere safe, somewhere with a nice big backyard and maybe a dog if his real family wouldn’t return. Dean could feel his eyes start to burn and bit down on his lip to keep from sobbing. Someone would have to take care of his baby brother; he always managed to get into trouble, but somehow mostly got out of it by charming old ladies with his sheepish grin and mumbling “Sorry.” But how would anyone find Sammy? They were in the middle of nowhere and dad wasn’t in the habit of telling anyone where they went; not even Bobby knew, this time.

He jerked in surprise as he heard a pathetic little sound and only then became aware that he was indeed crying, sobs wracking his little body against the hard surface of the stone. He wanted nothing more than to curl in on himself and properly cry, or to stand up and walk back to his brother, or for his dad to come and find him; but nothing would happen. The insight only let the hot tears flow faster and he hated himself a little for being so utterly useless when he should be so much stronger by now.

“You’re crying again.” The sudden clear words startled Dean out of crying and his head snapped up, taking in the figure standing a few feet away from him. He couldn’t make out anything for sure, but as the form started moving closer, he automatically started to scramble away from it.

And not a second too late, it seemed, as the shape suddenly lunged forward. Yelping, Dean tried to get away faster, but his stomach turned painfully as he felt the ground give away underneath his hands again and he started to fall, for the second time—

He didn’t fall. Eyes pressed shut, he didn’t see what had happened, but he wasn’t falling. Something, someone, had wrapped their arms around him, had caught him. That didn’t make any sense.

Dean carefully blinked his eyes open as he heard a long suffering sigh of pent up breath escaping into the cold air right next to his ear. At first, he couldn’t see anything until he made sense of the fabric in front of him. He was held closely against a stranger’s chest. Just as the thought entered his mind, he felt himself being lifted up and carried for a few steps before he was carefully set down onto more solid ground, in a heap of leaves.

The man stepped away from him and Dean had to blink again. The guy looked ordinary enough, dressed like a hiker with shaggy brown hair and very piercing blue eyes. What made Dean gasp was what he saw behind him; looking like shadows at first glace, there were a pair of majestic wings in black. Or maybe it was just the shadows of wings, Dean wasn’t sure. It didn’t change the fact that the guy _had freaking wings_ , anyway.

A memory flashed before his eyes as he stared, transfixed, at what he decided had to be shadows. He knew how those things felt, had been wrapped up in them before, he knew that, somehow, but when…?

The name entered his mind at the same time it left his mouth. “Castiel!”

To his surprise, the stranger started slightly at the name, but then nodded reluctantly. The boy squinted at him. Something wasn’t right. It had been over five years since he had seen Castiel, the man who picked him up and brought him home without so much as blinking. But this… wasn’t Castiel. Castiel had had black hair and a haughty expression; he didn’t look at all like this hippie in front of him now. The only resemblance was the eyes and Dean shuddered a little as he realised they must have been glowing in the darkness, since there was no way he could have seen them from where he sat in the barely-there light.

“You don’t look like Castiel,” he accused, his voice layered with suspicion.

“No, I don’t,” the stranger agreed simply. His intense blue gaze swept over Dean’s form before he continued. “That upsets you.”

Feeling sheepish, Dean nodded; his eyes firm on the man. Another nod and suddenly, with a loud screeching noise, the stranger was gone.

Dean couldn’t do so much as blink again before, with another obnoxious sound, someone else was standing in the place his rescuer had occupied. And this time, as the newly arrived guy slowly stepped closer, Dean recognised him; brown trench coat and loose tie exactly how he remembered them.

“That’s weird,” he muttered out loud before he could stop himself. Okay, so this guy was obviously not a demon and didn’t seem to be a monster (indication for something being bad: it tries to kill you.) His eyes widened. “Dude, are you some kind of guardian angel?”

Castiel stiffened visibly, brows turning downwards. “I’m not a guardian. I’m a warrior,” he stated very matter-of-fact, even though Dean could have sworn he sounded a little offended. “There aren’t enough of us anymore to look after every single human. God assigns us to a few, but even that has become rare. There are no more pure guardian angels.”

At that, Dean’s mouth fell open, pain forgotten for the moment. He was having an epa… epifi… some kind of revelation here, after all. “But dad says God doesn’t exist!”

“Then you shouldn’t tell him about this,” the angel said in a tone that would have been considered grave by most people, but Dean figured to be a light one. As Castiel bent down on one knee in front of him, he couldn’t keep his eyes from following his every move. Sammy would have called him on staring at someone like that, but his baby brother wasn’t here after all. “Are you badly hurt?”

The question startled the boy, bringing him back to the here and now, complete with broken leg and an angel on his knees. “Dude,” he said, tone serious. “What does it _look_ like?”

Stormy blue eyes met his again, this time clouded by confusion. “I understand human bodies are very fragile, but I don’t know how…” He gestured at Dean’s leg, and for a short moment he seemed helpless, at a loss for words. It made Dean smile a little.

“It’s not that bad. I just don’t know how to get back home with it.” He pointed one finger at Castiel. “Can you do that teleportation thing again?”

The angel tilted his head, looking every inch like a curious baby bird before his passive tone destroyed the image. “That is the reason I came when I heard your prayer. To bring you back to your family.”

Infinitely careful, as if afraid Dean might break more bones under his touch, he stretched his arms under the boy’s knees and head, supporting him as he stood. He felt more than saw Dean flinch at the touch and halted immediately. The child was going through enough pain without him causing any more. He was no guardian, wasn’t used to taking care of humans. He usually observed them from afar, admiring their minds, their emotions and naïvety, only sometimes giving them a slight nudge into another direction, guiding them in God’s will. Or he used to, before the battle started to slowly spill over into heaven, changing everyone’s ways. But despite this, he should know more about humans. He needed to be able to treat them not just as the amazing creation they were, but as living, breathing, _feeling_ creatures.

Remembering something Raphael had once told him, he gently let his forehead connect with the boy’s, closing his eyes against man’s world, so different from his own. He concentrated on his true self, leaving the boundaries of his vessel behind, disconnecting from every sensation. Slowly, he could feel his senses slide back to the way they were in his true form, the unconditional and warm love the Lord had ushered into every being upon creation. It was very different from his usual slipping back out of the physical form he was using, much more deliberate and… searching. Yes. That was the right word. He searched for that brightest, hottest thought in himself, grabbing onto it as he found it and threading it into his every fiber, letting it unite with his complete essence before it poured into his vessel.

It was so weakened in this world, barely visible even to his eyes. No wonder the humans had come to question God if his love always felt this distant. But it was enough, it seemed, for the boy in his arms gasped in surprise.

“My leg! Did you—How did you do that?” he asked in astonishment, brown eyes wide as he gazed up at the angel.

The godly energy keeping him closer to his true form for a few more moments, he could feel the vessel’s lips turn upwards, stretching into a heartfelt smile. It was so hard to let his the vessel mirror his emotions correctly. No matter which vessel, it always came out wrong, angry, bitter; never like he truly felt. Many had told him so, yet he could not understand the reason. He knew he had smiled before; had smiled at seeing this boy return home into the arms of his loving parents. Maybe only the strongest emotions showed.

As he saw Dean smile back at him, he was happy to be able to react exactly like he wanted to for once. A thought, a wish, a demand later, and they were in front of the shabby cabin Dean had left earlier.

Upon seeing where they were, the boy reluctantly slid out of his arms, painfully innocent eyes still staring at Castiel in something he would have called admiration, had it been directed at another human being.

“What is your name?” he asked, surprising himself with the question. Because it was true, he didn’t know the boy’s name, even though he was so entirely different from all the other boys he’d seen. He wasn’t the same. He was special. Castiel knew as much, but had never consciously been in need for another being’s name.

The boy blinked. “Dean. Winchester,” he paused, frowning slightly. “How did you not know my name?”

But Castiel didn’t hear the question, instead focusing the name he’d just heard; burning it into his memory, into the essence of his very being to get a feel for it, to really get to know it. “Dean Winchester,” the name rolled over his lips, leaving them like he’d tasted something good and wanted another bite of it. “Take care of yourself, Dean Winchester.”

Dean blinked again and the angel was gone, leaving him standing there, gaping stupidly at thin air. He wondered why Castiel had vanished this fast, without giving him the chance to ask anything important, anything at all a regular Joe should ask when he met an angel. Like, _when are you coming back_?

He started out of his thoughts when he heard an all too familiar and missed skidding of wheels over uneven ground.

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted at http://ailette.livejournal.com/27295.html)  
> Beta: The fabulous freakydarling ! :)  
> A/N: This takes place roughly five years after Thursday's Child (Dean's nine! x3). For all intents and purposes, this sequel was only written because I finally had an idea for a sequel but couldn't write it without at least one part in between.


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